


Consumed by Fire

by SA Kimball (lar_laughs)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angels, Community: Angelic Big Bang, Elementals, F/M, Original Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-07
Updated: 2012-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-29 02:17:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lar_laughs/pseuds/SA%20Kimball
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are things in this world that can not be believed but that doesn't mean that they don't exist.  Patrice never believed in angels but that doesn't mean that they don't exist.  Or that one has come to Allen Street at a time when she needed him most.  The problem is that she doesn't trust him.  Without trust, they can't really hope for any sort of relationship and that could be a problem.</p><p><a href="http://imaginary-rose.deviantart.com/art/Consumed-by-Fire-angelic-bigbang-278023769">The Lovely Art</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Consumed by Fire

**Author's Note:**

> This idea is based on the idea that there are FIVE elements: Earth, Air, Fire, Water AND Power. Some cultures believe that angelic power is just as much an element as the other four.  
> Glossary:  
>  _Kosh_ = Earth council  
>  _Wuzh_ = Air Council  
>  _Yaag_ = Fire Council  
>  _Pana_ = Water Council  
>  (These words are loosely based on the corresponding Romany words. A "council" is intended to mean "a group of beings that have something in common".)

At the dawn of time as we on Earth know it, there was a war in heaven. One of the archangels, the strongest of the heavenly host, was found to be infecting the other angels with thoughts of sedition. The plot was discovered quickly enough that damage was kept at a minimum; however, the instigator needed to be dealt with. As punishment, the archangel responsible for the treachery was executed, and his carcass was cast out of heaven. It landed on a planet, cracking the surface and pushing deep into the fires at the very core of the sphere.

Even though the planet was newly formed, it could not heal the crevice. Power began to eke out through the opening as the fires ate through the tough skin of the angel so that the core of the being, that which brought him to from nothing to something, was free of its vessel. Something had to be done or the world would become uninhabitable. Four angels were dispatched down to the site to guard it from any intruders that might try to take over the power source but there was still the matter of the power that continued to flow to the surface. Nothing could be done about that and it was destroying anything and everything it touched.

The solution, when it was discovered, was simple enough. The power needed to be absorbed before it could harm anything but, in the hands of one creature, it would provide too much stimulus for anyone but an angel. The angels themselves could not absorb the power for fear of overloading their own systems. This posed a problem that needed to be overcome so that the solution didn't become a problem of its own.

There were creatures that were attracted to the power and that weren't destroyed when they came into contact with it. Water. Earth. Air. Fire. Elements that absorbed the magic as it escaped through the rift and became something more. Not quite an angel but no longer just an element.

These beings gravitated toward the source of energy still emanating from the ground. As they grew more complex, they began to form a society of sorts. In time, the human society got close enough that they began to have influence over the way that the Elementals lived. They built houses and formed businesses, just like the humans that began to surround them, hemming them in on all sides.

But the magic couldn't be contained. It expanded and constricted as the Elementals needed the space even though the maps of the city showed only a single block of green. _Allen Street_ was all it said on the maps and all anyone knew it as. The story of the name was lost to history but no one cared. The Elementals were content to call Allen Street home. It looked nothing like a typical street in any other city except that there was a cobblestone lane lined by a sidewalk, connecting shops and houses together.

In the middle of it all, the rift in the earth still glowed with power. Walls had been built around it but that didn't contain any of the magic. Humans never understood what was happening as they went about their lives. While they were drawn to the street, from time to time when the gates were opened, they never understood why. The little bit of magic that the Elementals leeched out as they walked and talked and lived was just enough to pull the humans toward them. As soon as the gates were closed, the humans forgot the very existence of the place.

And no one believed in angels. Not humans. Not Elementals. Some things, after all, were just too silly to continue believing in after childhood. But the rift knew differently. Someone had sent the angels away. Someone had told the rift to stop calling to the heavenly beings but the rift knew the magic would get through eventually. It only needed one special person for everything to fall into place.

 

***

"Patrice?" The tone of her sister's voice made it clear that she had been talking for much longer than Patrice had actually been listening. That was nothing new, especially when Patrice was in the midst of a project, but it still didn't mean that Tianne was happy about being ignored.

It took some doing but Patrice shook herself out of the lethargy that was setting in now that the clouds were doing more than just promising rain. The resulting moisture in the air made her limbs feel heavy and useless. Ever since she was younger, Patrice had been more susceptible to turns in the weather than the other Yaag clan members. She'd always hoped to grow out of this tendency but it hadn't happened yet. Probably never would. "What did you say?"

"That man. He's been standing on the corner for nearly three weeks. Any idea who he is?"

Patrice had to admit that she had no idea who her sister was talking about. Other than her duties as the Yaag custodian, which were few and far between at the moment, she hadn't come up from the kilns for ten days. She'd often gone on work jags, though, and nothing on the street had changed. Allen Street was Allen Street - six blocks of unique shops, selling everything from fresh bread to specially crafted wooden furniture. It was also home to nearly four hundred Elementals, at the last census. The mortals that came on the street, known as off-streeters, only saw those creatures that were given permission to be seen.

It wasn't a hard process to get permission but it meant that they were willing to look _normal_ , by mortal standards. Sometimes that was easier said than done. For Patrice, that meant tempering the lick of flames that rode on the surface of her skin and tufted through her hair. For others, it was a matter of hiding who they really were and that didn't sit well with everyone. The council was constantly having to deal with troublemakers intent on the Elementals taking the street back for themselves even though the general consensus was that most people didn't mind the charade. Being able to interact with the off-streeters was interesting, although Patrice left the running of their shop to her sister, Tianne. She had no patience for the people that flooded the street. They were a masquerade of what actual mortals were really like and it made Patrice irritated to have to deal with their self-consumed questions and demands.

Still, off-streeters on the street when it was meant to be closed were taboo. That meant that the man Tianne was talking about was a new addition to the street and, as the Yaag clan custodian, she should make herself acquainted with him. With the amount of Yaag migrating off the street to the other areas of sanctuary, she really should be welcoming any new members of the clan with open arms. "I should, shouldn't I? Think I could take a shower first? I'm a mess."

"You are a mess but you really should do something soon." Tianne let the curtain fall so that it obscured the view before turning to smirk at her little sister. "Mason has taken an interest in the stranger. This situation could get out of hand very quickly if our brother decides to be his generally charming self."

With a groan, Patrice headed for the door. If her brother was going to make a nuisance of himself, she would have no choice but to interfere. It was her responsibility and, by the pyre, she was going to keep the peace. Accosting a stranger could only force an unwanted confrontation, especially since the custodian had not made the initial introductions. That would be just like Mason to interject his own vile sense of justice into the proceedings before she had a chance to do anything.

All her attention was focused on the older brother that had been the bane of her existence since she was a small child. It angered her more than she cared to think about that he was here when his store front was nearly a block away. No doubt he'd been spying on her again, trying to find yet another piece of gossip he could spread on his eternal quest to make her step down as custodian. He was going through a lot of trouble for nothing, as far as she was concerned. Even if she wanted to give the title and responsibility to someone else (which she didn't), she would have hung on to it now just to keep it from Mason.

"...not supposed to be on the street after the gates closed. Did no one tell you that you have-"

"Mason!" Patrice took adverse pleasure in watching her brother's reaction. He visibly jumped, his body stiffening in surprise before he took control once again. Before turning around to acknowledge her, he straightened one of the myriad of ties in his collection and pushed a hand through his thinning hair. "Why are you giving this man grief for standing here? He's not doing any damage to anything and he hasn't bothered anyone."

"He doesn't belong here."

There wasn't much that Patrice could deny about that statement. Even without knowing a single other thing about the stranger, Patrice knew that he didn't belong, yet his mere presence here suggested otherwise. The gates had been closed for hours. No off-streeter was allowed onto Allen Street when the gates were closed. A strong magic effectively hid them from the view of anyone that didn't belong.

Still, she wasn't about to admit to Mason that she agreed with him. That would set a bad precedence and give him the unrealistic expectation that she might start agreeing with him at other times. "How can you be so sure."

"For one, he doesn't have a mark."

She made the mistake of turning to look at the man when her brother held up a condescending, half-cocked finger, as if he couldn't bring himself to spend the energy on poin ting correctly. As her breath left her body, she tried to convince herself she would have liked anyone that her brother found so repugnant but the plain truth was that this man was straight out of her dreams. All she could see under the shadow of his hood was a single blue eye and the contour of a jaw rigid with irritation but it was enough to know that she wasn't looking at a stranger. She even knew his name.

"Malachi," she whispered, tasting the newness of the name on her tongue even though she remembered saying it often enough before. In a dream, she reminded herself. He had every right to take a step back from her sudden knowledge of him because she didn't actually know him. It was a lucky happenstance that she was able to put a name with the face. It was pure stupidity that had her aching to lean forward for a kiss.

Her brother's voice brought her down to reality with a definite jar that was unwelcome. "You know him? But of course you do. You'd allow every vagrant on Allen Street if you could. Such a disaster you're turning out to be."

The comment stung but no worse than anything else Mason had said to her over the years. Their relationship had always been strained, only becoming downright painful over the last six months as she'd struggled to fill her father's shoes in a role she hadn't expected. Her life, when she'd planned it out as a small child, had been headed somewhere far different than Allen Street. She'd expected travel and freedom, not being tied to a single street and a group of people who, like Mason, didn't expect anything great or helpful from her.

Just as she was about to throw out a comment about his life not exactly turning out to be the stellar event he'd planned, she was shoved to the side. The motion nearly sent her to the cobblestones on her hands and knees but she was able to right herself in time to see the stranger blocking her brother from her view.

"Apologize," came a deep rumble that nearly sent Patrice to her knees yet again. She put a hand up to touch the juncture of her neck and shoulders, the exact spot where she remembered soft lips trailing kisses as that same voice repeated her name in a way that had her body burning with need. It hadn't been a dream. It couldn't have been a dream. She wouldn't have remembered a dream as vividly as she remembered the way those words rumbled around in her body until every muscle was imprinted with the sound.

"For what?"

"For your words."

Mason's laugh was as full of rancor as usual but there was a hint of fear that had Patrice straightening to her full height and striding forward to stand beside the stranger. "Enough of this. Mason, go home. Go back to your shrew of a wife and try to come up with someone else to mess with. As ideas went, this wasn't one of your best. Deal with it and move on."

It was an out and her brother, being the smart man that he was, took it with a glare and a silent promise to be back. He didn't have to say it out loud for her to know the words were there, just as they always were between them. Mason would never back down from his negative position. Patrice would never give up her position as custodian. To prove that she wanted her words obeyed, she held out her left hand so that her brand on her palm was visible to her brother. With just a little effort on her part, even on this overcast day, the outline of a flame began to glow. She wasn't going to use the power against him, didn't think she actually could if it came right down to it, but it cowed him all the same. For all she knew, he didn't know about her restraint. Whatever it was, it worked because he turned and began to walk nonchalantly down the street as if he'd stopped to inquire about her health and his job situation.

Both Patrice and the newcomer stayed frozen in place until Mason was nearly out of sight. "He should have apologized," the man growled, his voice softer but not any less intense. Her body, without any input from her mind, leaned toward him.

"He didn't lie." Patrice pushed her aching hand into her pocket, suddenly irritated that she'd resorted to showing off the very thing that made her brother angry. It was like she wanted him to stay upset. "I am a disaster. Youngest custodian ever known on Allen Street and I'm losing two people a week, on average. If this keeps up, I won't be overseeing anyone but myself." The thought left her despondent but keenly aware of what she should have been doing instead of standing forlornly in the middle of the street, trying to think of ways to make this man stand closer to her. "He's right about something else, too. You're new here. I've seen you around lately but you're definitely new."

"As new as you."

That brought her head around so that she was staring at him in disbelief. "I was born here. I would have definitely remembered seeing you before today if you'd been around that long."

He gave her the kind of look that said she wasn't understanding what he was saying but he didn't bother to elaborate on what he'd said. Instead, he turned away from her and went back to staring intently at the front of her shop. Salamandar Pottery had been in business nearly as long as there had been an Allen Street. The outside of the building had just gotten a new coat of paint, thanks to her friend, Fallon. Right now he was at his wits end and needed to do something useful while he'd been waiting for a new shipment of balsa wood for his own shop. The brick red color was off set by the darker orange of the window and door frames and the stark black of the newly lettered sign. It was dark and beautiful, just the way she'd always imagined it in her head when she thought about what she'd like her own shop to look like someday. Her mother would have hated it but there wasn't any worry about her seeing it any time soon. Both her parents were in a warmer, drier climate so they weren't affected by the same lethargy that had Patrice almost too tired to continue this conversation. Almost.

"Fine. Don't answer. But I will need your name." She shivered because she had a horrible feeling that she knew his name and that would be too much to bear if it turned out to be true. "I'll have to add you to the list at the next meeting."

"You already know it." His gaze held hers, his eyes suddenly a piercing blue that made her throat ache as if she was holding back tears or laughter. "And you can't add me to any list."

The heat pooling between her legs based on nothing in reality was making her grouchy. Since there was no one else to take her bad mood out on, she focused her ire on this man who wasn't giving her straight answers to her questions. "I will add you to my list. It's a requirement. The Committee needs to know who is on the street."

"Says who?"

"Says..." But she had no real answer. It was just something that had always been. There were so many things that they did on Allen Street because that was how things were done. It had always made her feel like a sheep to do something just because it was expected of her. Who was she to buck the system, though? A college drop out that wasn't content to make plates and mugs like the rest of her family? The family black sheep with a penchant for the dramatic but no head for numbers? Who was she? She was nothing.

"You are everything."

At first, she didn't understand what he meant until she realized he was answering the very private, internal conversation she'd been having with herself. How could he have known what she was thinking? She'd spent enough time in front of the mirror as she'd grown up to know that she was good at hiding her expressions so no one could use them against her. When it came to playing her role, she knew that she could look the part with little to no problem. She was an artist when it came to disguising how she felt.

"Not from me." He shook his head, moving the hood back on his head so that his face was out of the shadows. Crystal clear blue eyes looked straight into her soul. A smooth jaw, just barely marred by a scraping of hair, called out to be touched by questing fingertips. Full lips with just the hint of a sneer begged to be molded with her own. This was Malachi. Even without pushing back the hood, she knew his hair would be streaked with every shade of brown and blonde so that it was impossible to pin down just what color it really was. This was her Malachi. The man who had haunted her dreams for weeks.

He had been a major part of her dreams since the night she'd been branded, as a matter of fact. There had been a ceremony to pass the title and duties on and she had stumbled home after, nearly sick from the sudden burden. She'd slept for nearly a day, wrapped up in dreams of this man. Technically, if one could count the dream state, this was her longest relationship. He wasn't supposed to be real and he definitely wasn't supposed to show up and cause trouble in her real life.

"Your name can't be Malachi. I... made that up. I dreamed it. That isn't real. Nothing in dreams is supposed to be real."

"Unless it is."

Patrice balled her fists up, debating whether it would do any good to deliver an upper cut to his jaw or if she'd just walk away with no more information than she had and a sore hand. It would feel good to remind herself, once and for all, that this was a flesh and blood man that shouldn't be confused with a dream. She was doing no one any good by forgetting the simple facts: no one's dreams ever came true because they just weren't real. Not the way she wanted them to be real.

"Fine. I'll have to bring in the MacCreedy if you won't answer my questions. She'll-"

"No." Something in his eyes shifted so that he wasn't the man from her dreams any longer. He had an edge that scared her, even though she had no idea what she should have been scared of.

She was doing her job by reporting him to the MacCreedy. If it felt like tattling to the teacher most of the time, it was just one of those things that she was supposed to do. Ares, the custodian for Wuzh, had explained this and several other "duties" to her as if these were sacred commandments that she should only overlook to her detriment. The whole time he'd been talking to her, she felt like she was being given a list of ways to be a _good girl_ , the very last thing that Patrice wanted to be. Not that she was looking to be like Melissa, the Kosh custodian. The woman radiated a pretty hefty _stay away_ vibe and, as far as she could tell, spent most of her time _not_ doing anything. Good or bad, she just didn't do it. Melissa kept to herself, something that made her an anathema on Allen Street where socializing was par for the course.

Now, watching the change come over this stranger who shouldn't have known her or the MacCreedy and most definitely shouldn't have felt familiar in the least, Patrice wondered when she'd let herself be put into a mold like this. The decision made, she held out her hand to the man. "Fine. I won't put you on my report but understand that she'll know you're here. Mason tells her everything."

"He won't tell her this."

While he sounded pretty sure of himself, Patrice knew better than to hope for Mason to keep this bit of information to himself. Still, she felt the need to get back inside and out of view. There weren't many people around since the threatening rain kept most everyone on this part of the street inside. The Kosh would be at full strength,so too busy working to be out on the street, while most of the Wuzh were somehow involved with the concert being held at the Music Hall tonight. No Pana came to this part of the street if they valued their life. Mason might decide to come back or, worse yet, send his wife over to spy. Patrice hated that she could spot Gadrie's beehive hairdo in a crowd - and usually did.

While he sounded pretty sure of himself, Patrice knew better than to hope for Mason to keep this bit of information to himself. It was a perfect opportunity for him to, once again, tell anybody who would listen what a disappointment Patrice was in her custodial role. She glanced around, as if expecting people to be coming out from the shops to hear a list of her flaws.

There weren't many people to be out, though. The Kosh would be at full strength at this time of year, so they would be too busing working to be out on the street. The Wuzh were somehow involved with the concert being held at the Music Hall tonight and the threatening rain was keeping what little Yaag there still around indoors. No Pana came to this part of the street if they valued their life. The Pana and the Yaag were natural enemies and there was no hope of reconciliation. Not that Patrice was looking to be that sort of custodian that thought that everyone should get along. She was perfectly fine with the status quo.

Still, Patrice felt the need to get back inside and out of the open. Mason might have been cowed, but he could easily decide to come back, or worse yet, send his wife over to spy for him. Patrice hated the beehive hairdo Gadrie wore, but at at least it was easy to spot in a crowd so she was always able to keep an eye out for the nasty woman.

It felt stupid to be standing there with her hand held out to someone who obviously wasn't going to take hold of it. He was looking at it as if he had no idea what to do with the gesture. When she shook it at him as one might when talking to a truculent child, she felt like an idiot. If he didn't want to hold her hand, she shouldn't demand it of him. With a sigh, she turned the gesture into a point.

"My shop is right over there. I can offer you some hot tea, if you'd like. Well, it'll be lukewarm right now. With rain this close, I don't know if the fire is still going." After a pause where he did nothing but look at her, Patrice shook her head. "You don't talk much, do you? At least when I want you to. Come or don't come. I don't care. I need something to drink and tea sounds as good as anything."

Tianne lifted her head as the bell over the door tinkled but only rolled her eyes when she saw it was Patrice. "Oh, it's just you."

"Just me? Thanks, sis. You make me feel so loved." The girls stuck their tongues out at each other, just as they'd been doing since they were too small to see over the counters. "Is there any tea left?"

"There's-" The rest of her words were silenced as she watched the man walk into the room. Patrice followed her gaze and tried not to stare herself. Even though Salamandar Pottery was one of the largest shops on Allen Street, beat only by Thousand Books and the Music Hall, the room looked small when filled with the bulk of the stranger.

"I would introduce you but he hasn't given me his name."

"You know it." He sounded exasperated now, as if the whole idea that she knew his name and was refusing to say it out loud again was getting tiresome.

Well, two could play at that game. "I said a name that sounded right but I don't know that it's your name. For all I know, you're name is... Fred."

The daze lifted off Tianne as she tried to hold back a snort of laughter. "Yeah, right. I don't think he's a Fred."

"He might be a Fred."

Tianne moved from her normal position behind the counter, something that Patrice had never seen her do in front of a stranger. Even though she didn't see Malachi, if that was even his real name, often enough in her dreams to be comfortable with him, Tianne didn't seem to be self-conscious of her limp in front of him at all. When she was standing directly in front of him, her head tipped back to see his head high above hers, she smiled. "He's not a Fred. No one this good looking is a Fred. How about..." Patrice's blood suddenly ran cold as she waited to see if her sister knew his name. For a stark moment, she wondered if he visited other people in their sleep. "Trevor."

"My name is Malachi. At your service." He lifted one of Tianne's hands in his own, grazing her knuckles with his lips before putting it gently back down at her side. It was frightfully old fashioned and what some people called quaint but Patrice had to work hard not to explode forward and push Tianne back away from Malachi as if there was actually something romantic between the two of them. It was just good manners. Something she had always seemed to lack.

Like now. She leaned against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest, instead of offering him a chair or the promised cup of tea. Before she let him into the private areas of the family shop, she wanted some answers.

"How? How is your name Malachi? Why do I know it? Why do I know you?"

"Because you dream of me. Just as I dream of you."

That had her floored. She'd never admitted to anyone that she dreamed of a gorgeous man who did naughty things to her and professed his undying devotion, so this wasn't a joke. No one was trying to give her grief over what was probably too much stress and not enough decent food.

"You dream of him and you never told me about it?" Tianne's laugh filled the shop. She was enjoying this conversation far too much for Patrice's comfort.

Malachi sidestepped around the smaller girl to walk over to where Patrice stood. He crossed his arms in imitation of her stance but there was a smile on his face that was meant for her alone. It was tender, the kind of smile someone might give their lover. "We are destined for each other."

"Like soul mates?"

Her sister was clearly skeptical of this idea but Patrice didn't have time to come up with a detailed explanation. As it was, she was having trouble believing it all herself. So far, she'd been right about so many things that she was freaking herself out. His hair really was full of every color from the gold and brown spectrum and the blue of his eyes was exactly the color she remembered. Besides, she'd picked his name out of thin air. Surely one more guess wouldn't hurt her. She might as well go for broke. "No, Tianne. Not soul mates. He's my angel."

***

"Tell me of this place." Malachi stood in front of the upper level window overlooking the street. He was holding the promised drink but he hadn't taken so much as a sip out of it, proving once again that most everything he did was out of politeness and not because he was in any sort of need. Considering she couldn't remember seeing him for the last week, his clothes were clean and well cared for. He'd obviously been able to take care of personal hygiene because he smelled clean and his beard was more of a shadow.

Now he was in the part of her dwelling where few but the dearest friends had been. Anyone and everyone was invited into the shop below but the rest of the building was for the family. Patrice had been in many of the buildings along this section of the street, especially since so many were standing vacant and she felt honor-bound to make sure the interiors didn't deteriorate from lack of use, but none of them compared, in her eyes, to the one she called home.

One this level was the large room they stood in now. If there had been sun, the room itself would have been a warm and comforting place. In the place of sun, the walls were embedded with glass that glowed from within so there was no need for lamps or other external light devices. There was a long table situated in the middle of the room as if it was the most important piece of furniture, suitable for the large family that used to eat around it every night. Besides Tianne, Mason and Patrice, there were three other daughters and one son in the Salamandar family. All four of them had traveled with Tyre and Veniz to the desert. Patrice had been there once and, while the heat was a welcome relief, it had been barren and still compared to the trees and bustle of Allen Street. No, this was her home and, while she'd fought that for a little while when she'd gone off to college, she knew it always would be.

She picked up her own cup, walking over to stand beside him. "This is the Yaag side of the street. Across from us are the Wuzh. There's a concert tonight in the Music Hall so most of them are preparing for that. The Music Hall is the large building that you can see just past the blue brick building. That's the dorms for the Conservatory." When he looked at her with the expression of someone who wasn't the slightest interested, she shrugged. "What?"

"I don't care about the Wuzh. I care about the Yaag."

"But you can't see the Yaag side of the street from here," she muttered to herself as she tried to figure out what he might want to know about. When his arm brushed against hers, she suddenly remembered what it was like to _be_ on fire. The exhilaration of the burn was the same as the intense pain that told her she was on the right path. Taking a deep breath, she let herself fall into the trance of the dream again. What would she have told him about?

"Mortan and his family left this morning. They didn't even tell me they were going. It was so sudden, like they'd been run off the street. I don't even know where they're heading but I'm hoping Father will give me word of them soon. If nothing else, they'll alert him to their whereabouts. With the rain coming, I should have more time to go door to door but I don't have the energy to think past dinner tonight. I let myself get drained. Look at the wall glass. It's dimmer than it should be. I spent too much of what I'd been saving for this storm on the latest piece I was working on. Now I've put myself in a tight spot that could end up pushing more of the people off the street."

And just as he had in the dream, he pulled her to him so that she was resting against his unyielding body. It was both for comfort and so that she could hear his quiet words. "You are working at half-strength."

"Well, sure. This time of year, I'm working at less than that. I mean, Tianne's trying to keep the shop running smoothly so I don't have to worry about that but I should have thought about what I would need to make the rest of the house work properly. And what if someone else needs help during the wet season? I won't be able to help them."

"Ask."

She pushed back enough so that she could look him in the eyes. "What?"

"Ask for help."

"But there isn't anyone to help. My parents are gone and I'm not about to go running to Mason and give him more fodder for his crusade of hatred."

"Ask me."

This made her smile, and not because he'd had to explain it to her in that patient voice that made it seem like he was training a small child. She liked the idea of asking this angel for help. What he could do for her was yet to be seen but she liked the idea that he didn't mind her leaning, both physically and mentally, on him. "Malachi, will you help me?"

Her body suddenly felt stronger, the tips of her fingers buzzing with more power than she'd retained in quite some time. The pieces she'd worked on lately had been intricate and had required more power than she should have used up on sculpture so that she was always running a bit lower than she should have been. When she held up her left hand, she saw the Yaag brand glowing as it had when she'd teased her brother but this wasn't because she was expending energy. Instead, it was flowing in through the scar.

"How are you doing this?"

"I am your other half, Patrice ap'Salamandar. You never have to be empty again... if you ask."

She brought the tip of her fingers up to her face, rubbing them against her skin. The power made her lips buzz but that always happened when she was full up. It had been a long time since she'd been this full, though. A long time since she'd felt that she could do anything without having to hold back for fear of running dry.

"You did this?" When he nodded, she leaned forward until her forehead rested against his chest. Her smile was so wide that her cheeks hurt, the skin pulled tight in a expression that she didn't often get to use these days. "Thank you. I just met you and I already owe you."

His muscles stiffened, the only sign she had before she was pushed away. "You don't owe me anything," he growled. When she frowned at him, he shook his head. "You don't get it, do you? This is what I do. What I'm supposed to do. You and I are supposed to work together like this."

Before she could answer, he was walking to the other side of the room, the part of the room she didn't like to use simply because it overlooked the garden. From the street level, there was nothing to see but a stone wall covered in vines. From this height, it was possible to see the trees and, if one looked hard enough, the area in the center of the garden where the rift cut through the granite of the Earth's crust. As a child, she'd found it creepy. As a custodian, she hated the implication of what it stood for. Oppression and, in some cases, violence.

Still, when he indicated for her to join him, she walked forward to stand at the smaller window. "What do you see?" he asked, placing his palm on the glass.

"Walls to keep the streeters out while they keep us in. Trees that moan in the wind because they hate where they're at. Unholy fire that consumes souls. Nothing good, Malachi."

"Then why did you agree to this?"

She closed her eyes, trying to remember what she had felt as they'd scarred her hand. There had been pride in the achievement then. The knowledge that she was doing something to help her family and her friends. When she opened them again, the garden mocked her by still being in front of her. "Because I was naive. No matter what I do, I can't go back to that girl who thought it would be something to pass the time while the clay dried on her latest sculpture. That... and it made my brother so upset. I thought it was funny that Dad hadn't picked him." She placed her hand beside his. The glass was cool, the moisture from the storm beginning to pebble and run down like tears. "What do you see?"

He was silent for a moment but she was beginning to realize that he would answer her questions if she was patient. A part of her was eager to hear what he had to say, to see through his eyes for a moment. Another part was wondering if she shouldn't show him to the door and wish him a very nice life. One that didn't include her.

"Possibilities. Connection. It's all wrong, though. This isn't what it's supposed to be like. You and I prove it."

"I don't understand. What do we prove?"

He placed his hand over hers, instantly warming both skin and glass. "We need each other. Angel and elemental. It's how it's been since the beginning. Corruption has put an end to the perfection."

"Corruption? I don't-"

"Patrice! You better get down here." Tianne's voice filtered up the stairway, a mixture of irritation and fear. That could only mean one thing. Mason. He wouldn't think twice about pushing Tianne around if he was feeling pissed off enough.

She tried to pull her hand out of his grasp but only succeeded in having him tighten his hold. "Please, let go. I have to go see what my brother wants."

"You need me."

It was a pretty dream but Patrice didn't see how having him at her beck and call would do her any good. Yes, it had been nice to have him refill her with power and she couldn't help but remember what his kisses had been like in her dreams. Odds were good that he'd kiss like that in real life, too. But there wasn't room in her life for romance. Not even for a good-looking angel. Besides, angels were a myth, perpetuated by a mortal society that needed something as silly as make-believe because their own reality was messed up. They would never have been able to handle her reality, where magic was real and evil wasn't kept at bay by good nearly as easily as the mortals would have wished. It wasn't perfect but it was her life.

No matter what he was, Malachi was looking at the garden like a man who'd found heaven. Nothing about the place made her feel remotely good. The power that she craved came up from the rift in the earth but those same fires had also been responsible for the only death she had ever witnessed. No, it wasn't just a death. That had been an execution. She had looked in the eyes of the man before he was thrown into the chasm and there had been fear there.

 _He wants to die. While the power feeds your soul, it eats away at theirs. They're nothing but animals and there isn't much soul there to begin with._ The MacCreedy had noticed her shocked expression even though she had tried to hold the sick feeling inside. As the woman explained it to her, yanking at the chains to show that the man didn't appear to feel anything, Patrice had seen past the words to the atrocity of the whole situation.

It was corrupt and wrong, the garden. She wanted nothing to do with it. While she didn't mind the responsibility for her people, enjoyed it as a matter of fact, she didn't want to have to go into that garden ever again. The very presence of the seemingly banal walls disturbed her. As she watched Malachi, it became clear that, no matter how much her body responded to him, they were in two very different mentalities where the garden was concerned. His adoration for the area terrified her. Better they just end it now before she found where else they might differ.

"No, what I need is to go help Tianne. It would be better for me if you stayed up here, out of sight. The last thing I need to do is remind my brother that I'm not reporting a stranger." He let go of her, stepping back so she could leave the room without having to push past him. For a moment, she paused at the door. It was sick that she was disappointed he'd back down so easily. There hadn't been a fight or any declarations of adoration. She glanced back at him, surprised to see him looking out the window. Something told her she'd hurt him. Probably more than she really understood.

"I'll be back soon," she mumbled but she wondered if he'd be here waiting for her when she did. It would serve her right to find him and lose him in a two hour time span.

***

Mason didn't come alone. He'd brought Ares with him. The Wuzh custodian spent most of the conversation wringing his hands. For him to be away from the Music Hall at the moment was nearly a breech of contract. That he considered Mason's arguments persuasive enough to be away from his duties spoke of just how strongly he sided with Mason. Or how much sway her brother had with the other groups of people on Allen Street.

She listened patiently as her brother covered his five point presentation on how horribly she was doing at her job, how their father should never have let her take on the job of leading the Yaag, and what a shambles she was making of not only her own life, but others' lives as well, just by being on the street. The strange thing was that he never once mentioned Malachi or seeing her just half an hour ago. It was like this was their first meeting of the day. That boded well for her but it was still making her uncomfortable. Like he was holding the information to use against her later and wanted her to squirm a bit longer. While she wasn't exactly squirming, she was uncomfortable.

Her father hadn't so much handed over the reigns of his custodianship as pushed them at Patrice. She'd barely nodded her head, not exactly sure what she was agreeing to and he was dragging her off to the garden for the ceremony that would transfer the power. There hadn't been a family meeting or even one opportunity for anyone else to offer up a better arrangement. She didn't blame her brother for being angry; she just didn't like how he pushed everyone else around while he was at it. If he wanted to be angry with her, that was fine. Treating Tianne like she was a party to the injustice didn't sit well with Patrice at all.

Right now, her sister was pretending to be part of the display they'd set up earlier that week of the desert colored pottery Veniz had started to make in her new studio. While she didn't look frightened, she wasn't even trying to walk back to the desk she normally hid behind. They all put on fronts and Tianne's was that she was whole and healthy. Patrice wasn't sure who she was fooling but she still went along with her sister's deception just as Tianne made sure everyone believed that Patrice was seeing to Yaag business even if she was holed up in her studio with the clay she couldn't stay away from for very long.

When it appeared that Mason had run out of steam, Patrice gave him the same answer she did every time he caught her like this. "If you have a compliant, Mason, take it up with the Committee. I'm not going to argue with you here in my place of business."

"Our place of business," he interrupted. "I still have a share in the family business."

Patrice pulled at the neckline of her t-shirt. "Shall we compare tattoos, brother? Does yours move any longer? Is it still in one piece?"

That got Mason moving. With a glare over his shoulder, he walked out of the shop without another word. When Patrice took a deep breath, she realized that Ares was still standing in front of her. He looked apologetic where he had merely looked grim a moment before.

"He caught me as I was walking by. I apologize, Patrice. It wasn't my intent to confront you tonight."

She wanted to ask him if it _was_ his intent to ever confront her but she decided not to argue this point with him. There were other things more important than knowing what the Wuzh custodian thought of her. If Mason thought he was close to the MacCreedy, Ares really was. He wasn't the lackey that Billus was but then, she did her best to keep away from the Pana so she had very few run-ins with the MacCreedy's second in command.

Instead of repaying strife for more of the same, she nodded her head. "That's fine. I know it wasn't your idea to come tonight. There's all the big doings over at the Music Hall tonight, after all."

That sparked his interest. "Yes. We're expecting a packed house. There's even rumors that the mayor will be there."

"The mayor?" An off-streeter coming on the street when the gates weren't open? The Music Hall was right at the edge of Allen Street and the rest of the city but it was still on property deemed sacred. There wasn't any precedence for something like this occuring. "And the MacCreedy is okay with that?"

"Who do you think invited him?"

Patrice tried not to flinch. Of course, the MacCreedy would invite the mayor. For someone who claimed to never leave Allen Street, she certainly seemed to know plenty of people not connected to the street. "You should be heading back, don't you think? So much to do before the performance starts."

That moved the man along so that the door was finally closing behind him. She turned to look at her sister, surprised to see her smiling. "What? You look like you know the cat who stole the cream."

"You're glowing. He did that, didn't he? Your angel?"

Patrice shoved her hands into her hair, pulling at the strands that tangled around her fingers as she tried not to vent her frustration. No wonder Mason had walked away so easily. "We've got bigger problems than _my_ angel." But that wasn't true. Nothing was bigger than the man who was still upstairs, probably still staring at the garden as if he couldn't believe he was anywhere else. "I've got to get rid of this glow. Do we still have that shipment of clay we were sending to Mom and Dad? Good, well call and tell them they aren't getting it."

She wasn't dressed for work, but that didn't matter. The only way she could think of getting rid of all the power that was currently inside her was to get down to the kilns and start creating. Tianne was still looking at her with that smirk that said her sister saw right through her but Patrice didn't care. Let Tianne deal with Malachi when he decided to come downstairs.

Pulling off her shirt, she threw it at the top of the steps where she would be sure to get it when she came back up. As hot as she planned on making it in the kilns today, the cotton covering would not be wanted. Besides, the last time she'd worn one of her good shirts to work in, she'd ended up getting too close to the fires and burning it off anyway. This way she wouldn't have to worry about replacing it later. No one ever came down to the kilns when she was working so it didn't really matter what she looked like or how little she was dressed. The cotton and lace covering her breasts kept her decent enough.

The heat of the banked fires met the power humming through her system as she moved down the steps, sending flares of desire through her system. She truly loved creating when she was at full power. The coolness of the clay only added to the sensation that came as close to ecstasy as she figured she'd ever get outside of her dreams. In this state, she was close to an actual flame herself. The glow wasn't all from the power. Her element was pushing to the front, past any human-looking glamour she might live with every day. This body was but a vessel for the power of who she was. Her skin, muscles, bones, even the sinew was nothing but flame and fire. She was not burning so much as she burned.

It would be impossible to work with clay just yet. She had to burn off some of this energy and there was nothing that needed to be fired. At this rate of burn, she would have work with something that needed high tempuratures. It had been awhile since she had worked with glass but it might be just the thing she needed to clear off the excess.

In the midst of gathering the makings and trying hard to stay away from any of the other raw ingredients, she heard someone coming down the steps. Tianne wasn't stupid enough to interrupt which left only one other that it could be. A dull hurt blossomed in her chest. She'd known Malachi, in the flesh, all of an hour and already she was asking him to leave. But he would be back every time she shut her eyes. If he wanted to haunt her, it wouldn't be hard unless she wanted to become an insomniac.

"I don't like to be disturbed," she called out, wondering if it would be that easy to get rid of him. When the shuffling sound got closer, she knew she'd been delusional to think that a simple statement would keep him from whatever goal he had in mind. "Fine, be that w-"

It wasn't her angel that was looming over her. Instead of sun kissed skin, blonde brown hair that defied definition and eyes that shone far brighter than any she'd ever seen, she was staring into the blackened face of something that hadn't been alive for a very long time. Fire had already licked over the skin of what had once been a large man, charring it beyond recognition, but it didn't seem to mind that it was near so much flame. Instead of being scared of the thing that had killed it, it seemed to crave the warmth. Hands missing all but a few fingers reached out for her as it lurched forward.

She wanted to scream but nothing but bile rose up in her throat. Instead, her own moan echoed that of the creature's pathetic mewling. "Go away,” she whispered when she at last found her voice. It didn’t do anything to make the creature stay back but it made her feel better.

As it got nearer, she saw distinguishing marks that she recognized . A bit of dark hair still hung from the mutilated scalp. One finger still bore a jagged fingernail, far longer than any that she’d seen on the usual inhabitants of Allen Street. One eye still held the fear of the death that had already been inflicted on it once.

“You allowed this.” The voice was deep and melodious, odd for something that had destroyed vocal chords. It wasn’t possible for anything that looked like this to sound so normal. It was the ingruious facts that made her more afraid than the advancing body. “You didn’t stop her. For that, everyone you love will suffer.”

Charred flesh reached out for her and she could finally scream.

***  
“I’m fine,” Patrice repeated for the tenth time. She knew this for a fact because she’d been counting. The act of numbering everything was a mechanism she’d started using as a child when life grew too overwhelming but she only fell back into it in times of great stress. It was something she used now just to keep herself grounded in reality. Otherwise, she was afraid she would fall back into unconsciousness and never return.

The mug of tea in her hand had barely begun to cool but still Tianne took it from her and added some hot water and more of the powdered tea leaves that her sister liked. As she handed it back, she shook her head. “No, you’re not. Neither am I, for that matter. If he hadn’t found you....” Her voice was muffled as she put a hand up to her mouth to hide the quivering. Tianne was the strong one and to see her reduced to this was hard for Patrice.

Harder than watching her little sister struggle through life with handicaps that were meant to be a burden but that she turned into blessings. Tianne was a Yaag without any actual fire. She was shunned by all but the very closest of the family friends, a defect that should have been dealt with at birth as far as many of them were concerned. Many of the other groups of people on Allen Street just ignored her if they could but Tianne had set herself up as the family spokesman. If they wanted a piece of Salamandar Pottery, they had to go through her. If she didn’t like their attitude, she charged them double. As far as anyone could tell, it hadn’t decreased their business. In some instances, it had actually brought them more. It was a status symbol to have a piece of Salamandar pottery and some people had been known to brag about how much they’d paid for the priviledge.

Patrice had seen her sister depressed, pressed down by the weight of being an Elemental without an Element. She had seen her angry and bubbling over with happiness. Never had she seen her sister scared, though.

“Maybe you should have Mom come for you. Take you back down with her. It might-“

“No.” The empatic word stopped Patrice cold. Even so scared that her hands were still shaking and her skin was beyond pale, Tianne’s backbone of steel was still evident. When her sister was determined, it was something to behold. “I’m not going to run away just because you were visited by a ghost. It didn’t hurt you so odds are good that it won’t hurt me either. I’m not going to turn tail and run just because someone decided you needed to be scared.”

“But what if they-“

“What? Try again? No, Rissa. I’m not going to desert you just because dead things are visiting you. Besides, if I left you’d never remember to eat. And you can’t run the shop by yourself. Not with all your other duties.”

It was useless to try to argue with her. Besides, Patrice didn’t really want to send her sister away. She was right in that Patrice was useless when it came to keeping her own life together, let alone adding the burden of keeping the shop open while trying to have a presence among the Yaag.

“I found no other disturbances.”

Patrice’s body tightened, with need as well as anger, as Malachi walked into the room, accepting the mug of hot tea that Tianne handed to him as if they had enacted this same scene hundreds of time before. He was entirely too comfortable here. Still, he had come to her aid when she hadn’t been able to pull herself out of the nightmare in the kilns. Her scream had barely felt like it carried any weight behind it but he had come running to her nonetheless.

As Malachi and Tianne began to run through what safeguards needed to be placed on the house so they wouldn’t have any more supernatural break-ins, Patrice could only huddle on the chair, stuck in her own thoughts.

She was still distressed at how good it had felt to be swept up into Malachi’s arms and carried up the stairs as if her own legs no longer worked. She doubted very much that she would have been able to walk even a few yards without collapsing if she’d had to depend on her own strength. Getting up the stairs would have taken her ages to navigate considering she’d been in and out of unconsciousness for at least half an hour after the attack.

It hadn’t been fear or nerves that got the best of her. Something about the dead beast had made her power start to fluxuate. It went from being so strong that she could barely contain the flames from licking out of her pores to so low that her body couldn’t function. Malachi had been able to even out the flares of power, soaking up the excess before pouring energy back into her so that she didn’t slip into a coma. If he hadn’t been here, she would have died just as if the monster had clawed her heart out and eaten it for lunch.

Even though it didn’t end up killing her, it had left the desired message behind. Someone was using her guilt against her. There were only three other people who knew of the incident. Three people who might very well use it against her.

She felt eyes on her, and lifted her own up to see what she’d missed. Both Tianne and Malachi were staring at her with expectation. “What did I miss?”

“Malachi wanted to know if you recognized… it?”

“The creature?” Patrice shivered as she tried to formulate a response that wouldn’t make her want to throw up all over again. “I’m not sure but… yes. I think I recognized it.”

When she didn’t elaborate, Tianne pushed back her chair. “I think I’ll go get ready. Do you still want to go to the concert with me?”

“Of course.” It was expected of her to show up. If the one who had orchestrated today’s amusements thought to keep her at home, she would make sure that they were made firmly aware of just how badly their plan had failed. “You can take all the hot water if you’d like. I think I’ll prefer a cold shower.”

For a moment, Tianne leered at her as if the words meant something completely different. With the overwhelming presence of Malachi beside her, Patrice wasn’t so sure she’d meant it any other way. While she needed to clean up, she did need something to douse the passion that simmered under the surface even now. But then her expression shuttered back up as if she heard the reality of the words. “Right. I won’t be long.”

Patrice sighed as she set her mug down on the table, covering her face with her hands. “I don’t know if I can tell you this.”

“Why not?” Long fingers wrapped around her wrist, tugging gently at her hand until she lowered her hands. “The nightmare can’t hurt you any longer.”

“But you can.” She let those words hang between them while she concentrated on breathing in and out.

Whatever she had expected him to do, it wasn’t to smile at her with a sad shake of his head. “Never.”

“Yes. You can. I saw the way you looked at the garden. I don’t know what it is to you, Malachi, but it isn’t the same thing to me. You revere it and I’m repulsed by it. The power… the power isn’t worth it. Not for what they do there.”

It was hard to read his expression and what the different tiny nuances meant but Patrice could tell that he was trying to get a grip on his anger before he answered her. Whatever he felt, it was strong enough that her words were making him irritated. She hoped that he would have been just as disgusted if he’d been around that night but she couldn’t be sure.

“What kind of angel are you, exactly?” she asked instead of waiting for him to answer her.

“What?”

“What kind? Like, are you an archangel? A cherbim? Serephim?”

He shook his head slowly, his expression suddenly mildly amused. “None of those but I’m impressed you know the levels of the servants of heaven. No, I’m just a guardian.”

“Are you _my_ guardian angel?” That thought made her shiver. She didn’t know much about guardian angels but the whole idea of having someone shadowing around after her, keeping her out of trouble, was vaguely unsettling. She liked to think of her life as her own.

Malachi shook his head. “Not that kind of guardian. I was created to guard a place. It is my destiny yet I am unable to do the job. There are forces which I do not understand that are keeping me from it.”

“So I’m like a sideline deal? Just something to do while you wait for the way to be cleared for your true destiny to begin.”

Those long fingers reached out to trace her jaw, cupping her chin so that she couldn't move when he leaned in closer. His lips barely brushed against her skin, sparking her desire to an inferno with a simple touch. “Not a sideline deal,” he whispered against her skin as he traced a line of kisses up to the corner of her eye. “You are entertwined in my destiny as surely as I am in yours.”

A sick feeling was starting to make her stomach drop in an uncomfortable way. “So… this place you’re supposed to guard?”

He stared in her eyes so that she had no doubt what he was going to say. “The garden,” he whispered but it might as well have been a shout the way that it made her ears ache.

“Then there’s no way our destinies can be entertwined.”

***  
All four custodians were in their seats when the heavy red curtain raised on the annual performace of the Wuzh Acadmey at the Allen Street Music Hall. Each sat in their special box that overlooked the stage at such an angle that the populace in the chairs below could still see them. As far as they were concerned, all was right in the world.

Patrice wanted to jump up on her seat and scream at all of them, “Don’t you see the evil that has invaded this place? Can’t you feel the oppression?” But it wouldn’t have done any good. Only a few weeks ago, she had been one of those people down there, her life simple and mapped out along a straight path. That Patrice then wouldn’t have believed this Patrice now.

“Can you tell who might have tried to hurt you tonight? Are they here, do you think?” Tianne whispered from her place beside her sister. She was doing a fabulous job of looking serene, as always. Even when people had come by to say hello to Patrice and had blatantly ignored her, Tianne had smiled and nodded her head gracefully at each one as they departed. When the MacCreedy had lifted her old-fashioned opera glasses in their direction, Tianne had waved gayly as if the lady meant it as an invitation for gaiety and not to make sure that all her charges were in place.

Malachi was in the building somewhere. To keep herself calm, Patrice tried to find him in the shadows. Even though she had protested his involvement tonight, he had insisted. For that, she was glad. All this talk of destinies and the presence of menace had her wanting to cling to him for her safety. There was still a little girl hiding away inside of her heart, one that she had spent the last few years trying to get rid of as she tried to break away from the safety of her family for what she saw as _real life_. Four years at an art school had given her a good insight into real life and she wasn’t so sure it was the dream she’d thought it was all these years.

Now, her reality was the Yaag and Allen Street. It was Tianne and the shop. It was friends like Mrina and Fallon, the wood crafter who had wittled her tiny creatures out of wood scraps when they were children. She hadn’t fought it much, at first, because it had been a challenge to her.

That was before the sacrifice to the rift and the angel in her dreams and the monster in the kilns that had disappeared like a mist so that she was left questioning if it was even real now that the moment had passed. That was before Malachi’s arrival and his refusal to leave.

As the music started, she let her attention wander back toward the people below her. Here, as anywhere else on the street, they were segregated. Not to allow anyone to feel less than anyone else, they were constantly told, but so that everyone was comfortable. That was the MacCreedy’s favorite word. _Comfortable_. Considering her age and the way her skin sagged off her bones, Patrice didn’t wonder that she wanted to be comfortable but it was a bit much for everyone else to have to toe the line.

Spotting Fallon with the other Kosh, she remembered what it had been like to have a friend outside of her own group. They’d met on the sly as if their friendship had been wrong. They’d been caught trying to climb over the gates after they were closed and she’d been punished more for who she was with than what she’d been doing. It had never felt wrong to be Fallon’s friend, though. Just like it didn’t feel wrong to feel her blood heat up every time she thought of Malachi. She told herself it was wrong, just as her mother and father had tried to convince her to give up Fallon’s friendship.

Tianne’s elbow dug into her side and Patrice realized she’d never answered her sister’s questions. “I don’t know.”

But she had a good idea. Looking at the other boxes, she tried to figure out which one of the other custodians tried to kill her.

Ares had been the Wuzh custodian for more years than she’d been alive but he still looked as if he was about thirty years old. His dark hair curled around his head in a style more befitting Lord Byron, who it had probably been patterned after seeing as he thought of himself as a poet. His arrogance lay in his people, though. The Academy had been his idea back when Patrice had been a child. She’d thought it sounded like a fun idea but had been disabused of that notion quickly enough. There were auditions held each year but only the Wuzh got in, seeing as it was called the Wuzh Academy.

This year’s crop of students were proving to be entertaining but they were all cut from the same cloth. Each performance sounded exactly like the one before it. Compared to the music and drama Patrice had seen in her own years at art school, this was safe. Boring, even.

Still, Ares knew what he was doing. His side of the street was overflowing, so much so that he’d petitioned the Committee at the last meeting to consider letting him have some of the empty houses across the street. Patrice had done a good job, she thought, of making sure that motion wasn’t passed but she didn’t think that fight was over yet. He was constantly walking down the Yaag sidewalks, measuring the empty spaces with his eyes as if he was already deciding who he’d move into them.

Melissa, the Kosh custodian, never came to the Yaag side of the street. Technically, the Kosh and the Yaag shared a side of the street but their areas were bisected by the garden. With the magic of the place, a person only had to walk down the Yaag side of the street and, when they got close enough to the walls to touch them, they found themselves walking toward the Kosh part of the street. It was the same with the Wuzh and the Pana. The garden had been off-limits to everyone for years. There were stories of people entering it just as if it was another part of the street, albeit covered with grass and trees instead of cobblestones, but Patrice didn't believe them. She didn't see why anyone would want to go to the garden. It was better this way. No one had to worry about accidentally stumbling onto a place they didn't belong.

No, the dark-haired gardner didn’t go anywhere else on the street if she could help it. Melissa's flower shop was small but the greenhouses that she and the other Kosh tended to were extensive. Like the garden, no one was allowed inside the tempered glass buildings unless they were meant to be there. Unlike the garden, people were constantly trying to get inside. It was a childhood ritual to try to break into the greenhouses. She and Fallon had attempted half a dozen times before they'd finally given up.

Unlike the MacCreedy, Melissa hadn’t aged since Patrice’s childhood. She had a different hair style from time to time but her face remained unlined and smooth. There were pictures of Melissa that dated back before Patrice’s father was born. Once again, she wore her hair differently but was reasonably unchanged otherwise. The woman didn’t draw people to her and Patrice didn’t know of anyone who considered her a friend. Patrice had noticed that no one had been by her box to talk to her.

Except… now there was a shadow in the back of the box. Melissa’s head was turned slightly so that her eyeline was not lining up with the stage. Her lips moved slightly as if she was having a quiet conversation with someone. It intrigued Patrice as she tried to think through who might be up there until the shadow shifted. A bit of hair caught the lights, dazzling in blondes and browns for a second before moving back into the darkness.

“Malachi?” she whispered, her voice laced with the hurt she felt coursing through her heart. Is that why he’d come with her tonight? It hadn’t been for her protection, after all. It had been so he could meet with one of the people who might have tried to harm her.

“Where?” Tianne was leaning toward her, trying to see what she was seeing. “Where’s he at? I can’t see him at all.”

“Over…” but he wasn’t there when she looked again. The shadows were even and Melissa was watching the proceedings once again. As if sensing Patrice’s gaze, she looked over. There was an acknowledgement but nothing else. Not a smile or a frown. She shifted her eyes back to the stage as if nothing had happened.

Patrice shook her head, trying to get rid of the ache of betrayal. He wasn’t hers to command. She didn’t even want him around. It didn’t matter who he chose to spend his time with. Not at all. “No one. It wasn’t him. I… I can’t find him.”

But now she couldn’t help but see the very specific shadow moving along the wall opposite of them. He was making is way from the Kosh to the Pana. The possibilities, none of them good, nagged at her as she watched his movements.

The part of her that wanted him to come talk to her from the shadows, to pull her into those shadows with him and do all sorts of things to her body that shouldn’t be done in public, even under the cover of darkness, was remembering what he’d looked like as he’d swept her up into his arms as the gruesome beast disappeared. There had been fear in his eyes. Fear for her because he’d most definitely been ready to throw himself between her and any enemy in that instant. He’d held her tight against his chest for a moment, whispering , “Not yet,” into her hair until the first flare of magic had caused her to lose consciousness. Tianne had told her she’d started to have a seizure and had, during one of the surges, stopped breathing.

Patrice leaned over, close enough to Tianne that no one would overhear her words. “Did he say anything to you?”

“Who?”

“Malachi. When I was unconscious. Did he say anything… I don’t know. Anything that struck you as odd?”

Tianne grinned, tucking a piece of Patrice’s hair back into the braid she’s hastily put it in earlier. Since she’d spent most of her time staring in the mirror, contemplating just how stupid she was for letting Malachi anywhere near her, instead of actively getting ready, she hadn’t had time to put it into anything more elaborate. “Besides, _I’m not going to let her die on me_ and _Is she breathing now?_ because that was pretty odd conversation, if you ask me.”

“You know what I mean, brat. Did he seem… oh, I don’t know. I’m not exactly sure why I got picked to have an angel. I’m not sure what to do with him now that I have him.”

“Maybe,” Tianne confided, resting her head on her sister’s shoulder, “you should just enjoy him. You’re making this into a much bigger deal than it is. Your lover doesn’t need to be your exact match. So you have some different viewpoints on things. So what? Mom and Dad used to have spectacular fights over how to fold towels. Do you remember that? Mason would sneak into the linen closet and refold them so they were the way that Dad wanted them to look. He was a brown-noser from early on. But they still loved each other. Maybe even more because they had differing points of view.”

Patrice watched for the shadow to enter the box behind the MacCreedy but he never appeared. She waited for him to appear in the auditorium again but she couldn’t spot him. There was an off-street exit near the Pana section but it wouldn’t be used this time of night. Not with the gates closed tight. She’d checked on them herself before she’d entered into the Music Hall. There were times that off-streeters were allowed to come to concerts at the Music Hall but tonight was not one of those nights. The mayor, for all the rumors that had spread through the street, was no where to be found.

The soprano on the stage was hitting a rather screechy high note when the commotion began from the right of the stage. An agitated murmur began to spread like wild fire through the Pana section first and then through the Kosh. The fine hairs at the nape of Patrice’s neck stood up as she smelled the first hints of smoke. In this place, with the Wuzh attendance so high, a small fire would turn into an inferno quickly. That it would start in the Pana section was odd but she didn’t have time to question the starting point as she looked around for a quick exit for Tianne.

“Come on,” she said, tugging her sister out of her chair and out of the box. The stairs were dark but she didn’t need the lanterns that were lit before and after the performance to see where she was going. Enough power still flowed through her so that she could make her skin glow just enough to guide them. Finding the exit that they’d come through earlier, she pushed it open. “You have to go home.”

Tianne looked hurt but not belligerent that she was being pushed out before they knew what was going on. “But what if they need help?”

“Then I will help them. You can be hurt, Tianne. I can’t. Go home.” And because those fine hairs were still sensing that something was wrong, she continued, “And barricade yourself in. Don’t let anyone else in. Not for anything, Tie. Something’s not right about this.”

That had Tianne starting for the store front in her uneven gait. When it looked like she was well away, Patrice turned back to the chaos that the Music Hall had become.

The air was thick with smoke. Several people, all of them Wuzh, were stumbling around, gasping for breath. Patrice pushed them toward the exit, hoping they’d be able to get themselves to safety after that. She didn’t have the time to walk every single one of them to the fresh air she could still feel flowing in from the opening.

Most of the Yaag had gone toward the epicenter of the disturbance but there were still some near the periphery. Patrice caught a few of them by the hand, instructing them to form a chain, of sorts, that would make it easier to get everyone to safety. As long as the smoke stayed relatively light like this, most of the Yaag could breath quite easily without too much danger of being suffocated. It was everyone else that she was worried about, though.

When everyone was in place and more were being drawn in to help, Patrice pushed forward toward the real disturbance. As she got closer to the area where the Kosh had been sitting , she could see that the smoke had begun to overcome many of the Wuzh and their bodies were being dragged across the room by the more hardy Kosh. As much as she wanted to help, she continued forward.

The concentration of smoke grew exponentially the closer she got to the stage. Charred remains of the red curtain hung haphazardly from the rod high above the main floor. All the smoke was from the attempt by many of the Pana to put out the fire, their smug countenances on display as she came running up to investigate.

"There she is," someone shouted over the din of conversation. All eyes were suddenly turned toward Patrice. It wasn't a positive experience, by any stretch of the imagination. Most of the expressions were angry or wary, a few were downright frightened. Whatever had happened while she'd been busy getting Tianne to safety was not in her favor.

People began to move to the side and a path opened up for the tiny, wizened lady who walked forward with the air of a battlefield general. The MacCreedy lifted a thin hand, a bony finger extended out in accusation. "Is this your doing? Did you start this fire?"

For a moment, Patrice couldn't think of a single thing to say. She had come forward with every intention of helping but found herself the victim of mob mentality. If she spoke the wrong words, they wouldn't think twice of tearing her apart. Her custodianship wouldn't matter for anything if they thought she had anything to do with the fire that had threatened the Music Hall.

The problem was that elements, in and of themselves, weren't necessarily under the influence of the different groups here on Allen Street. Patrice had nothing to do with fire itself. She merely commanded its presence in her body, using the element as it came to her. To say that any time fire was used to hurt someone was directly her fault was a falsehood and the people in the Music Hall would have known that. Each of them commanded their own element, some with more influence than others, depending on how strong their hold of the power was. She happened to have a strong hold over the magic but there weren't many people that knew that. Her father and mother and anyone they might have told. Mason might have had some knowledge of her power.

She looked in the crowd for her brother, wondering who he was siding with. Movement on the stage gave her pause. Mason was helping Ares pull down the charred curtain. Her brother had brought Ares by the shop today even though the man had supposedly only been walking by. Last week, Mason and Ares had been deep in conversation in the back of the coffee shop, where no conversation would be overheard. She had seen them together often in the last few weeks, now that she thought about it. Ares wasn't her favorite person but, alone, he wasn't a bad person. Neither was her brother. Yes, he was irritating but that was just the sort of person he was.

But the two of them together was worrisome now that she had time to think about it. While she might be making the wrong connection from this sudden friendship, she didn't think she was wrong in thinking that Mason's allegiance was compromised. Family ties no longer bound them as they once had. She doubted Mason would not be siding with his sister where this argument was concerned. It was obvious that he would never be happy with the decision their father made but she never thought he would actively consort with another elemental against her. The sense of betrayal was great enough that she felt her chest tighten.

But it wasn't until she spotted Malachi in the shadows that she felt the cutting grief that nearly sent her to her knees. Melissa stood beside him, both of them silently watching the proceedings. The rest of the Yaag had melted away as soon as the first barb had been thrown. She was more alone than she'd ever been before.

"Did you set this fire, Patrice ap'Salamandar?" This time, the MacCreedy's voice was strong and loud so that everyone in the room could hear her accusation. "You glow as if the power is on you, even in this time of wet and rain. Your skin is luminous and your eyes are bright. The others of your clan here tonight, they look weak and puny, as they should. But you... you look as if you could overtake us all if you wanted to."

The truth of the words lay heavy between them. She hadn't thought of hiding her current predicament or of trying to make it seem less than what it really was. What Malachi was able to do was a miracle that she would have shouted from the rooftops if the opportunity had presented itself. There was no way that she was going to let the MacCreedy cheapen what had happened with her words.

"The Kosh are at the very peak of their power and the Pana are only just beginning to flow to full strength. Who am I, a single Yaag, against nearly half the street?"

"You sought to do us harm when you knew we would be together and unprepared," someone shouted from the back of the crowd.

Patrice was in awe of how quickly the feelings of these people had turned against her. Granted, she considered few of them friends but she had been in many of their shops as a show of good will since she'd been back. Now, they were so poisoned against her that they wanted to accuse her without even asking her side of the story.

"It's a deal with the devil, himself." Those words chilled her. She looked into her brother's face as he stood on the stage, high above the crowd, his arms cross over his chest. "She put a spell on our father. Many of you knew him as a wise man but he showed great ignorance in choosing my sister to take his place when he and our mother moved to warmer climates. It is a decision, I'm sure, he will come to regret."

His words sounded like a threat to her ears. That was twice tonight that the people she loved had been threatened. _Your loved ones will pay for your arrogance,_ the monster had told her. If this condemnation continued, the other Yaag would be in danger from this fear that was seeping through otherwise intelligent people. In that moment, she realized she might lose everything she cared for.

"I have made no such deal with any devil," she began to protest but he cut her off with a knowing smirk.

"That school you went to. Your roommate was a practicing witch."

How did he know about Astra? She had never talked much about her roommates with her family, mostly because she knew they wouldn’t understand. Astra was a practicing Wiccan and would have been in awe of what Patrice truly was. Deidre had been a rich girl who wanted to be a clothing designer but didn’t know the first thing about threading a needle or sketching out her ideas. Jamal had been male. She hadn’t wanted her family to meet any of them because she was afraid of their censure to the lifestyle she had chosen over them. It hadn’t been because of the people themselves. They were all wonderful in their own ways and Patrice didn’t regret, for an instant, being friends with any of them.

Until this moment. “It was more of a religion to her than actually calling forth spirits. She celebrated the changing of the seasons. I’m pretty sure that was the extent-“

“And you’ve had a visitor.”

For a moment, she thought her brother was talking about the monster that had tried to assault her in the kilns until she realized he meant Malachi. She wanted to search him out, find reassurance from his presence but she knew that would be writing her own death sentence.

“Is that wrong now? I can’t have people visiting me? Celia has had a gentlemen caller every Friday night since I’ve known her and no one has called him the devil. Can I not have the same privileges? The last I looked, I’m of the age to receive callers without it being a crime.”

The MacCreedy was once again making herself known as she thumped her walking stick against the floorboards. “Enough. This is not about who has visitors and who they are. This is not about past friendships. This is about a fire that was started with the intent to do harm.”

“Then why have we laid this at Patrice’s feet?” Melissa stepped forward to stand beside the MacCreedy. “If not for her past, what do we have as evidence to accuse her with today?”

“She is glowing.”

Melissa put her hand out to touch the wrinkled skin of the MacCreedy’s face, almost a caress if her eyes hadn’t been dark with suppressed anger. “And you are not.”

“Neither are you,” the old woman spit out in anger.

“Yes, but I have an abundance of plants that have need of my magic at this time of year. The food you all eat is a direct consequence of my emptiness. Yet you see Patrice’s ability to hold power as something negative?” This had the MacCreedy fumbling for a response. Melissa took advantage of the quiet to raise her voice and address the crowd.

“The rest of you, go to your homes and be glad that there wasn’t more damage done here tonight. Do not blame one of our own for the simple fact that a lamp was accidently pushed over. If you had looked at the evidence before raising your suspicions, you might have saved us much time tonight. I, for one, have plants to attend to.”

The crowd began to break apart but the whispers were still running back and forth as the night’s events were discussed. Before Patrice could thank Melissa, the woman melted back into the shadows and was gone.

***  
Patrice shouldn't have been surprised to see the angel standing in the street in front of Salamandar Pottery, much as he had the first time she had confronted him. Had that only been this afternoon? So much had happened since then that it felt like a lifetime ago. She'd gone back and forth on what she felt for Malachi but it was comforting to have him here, watching over her.

"You and I need to talk," he called out to her.

When he didn't move towards her, she came over to stand in front of his shadowy form. It should have concerned her that he fit into the shadows so well. The mythology courses she took in school had always taught her that angels were fierce creatures with wings that, more often than not, burned with some sort of holy fire. This man had neither fire nor wings but he was certainly fierce. The way his mouth was curved into a snarl almost made her turn around and walk away from him.

"You've denied me twice."

She blinked, taken aback by the anger laced throughout his words. "Denied you? Me? You're the one who's sneaking around, getting all chummy with other people. I thought you were new here."

Some of the anger left his eyes as her jealousy creeped in the conversation. She would have preferred that it had stayed hidden but any emotion that strong had to be acknowledged or it would have swept her into a dark place where not even Tianne would have been able to reason with her.

"She is... she was a friend I never thought I would see again."

"Friend? Melissa? She's not the sort."

Anything else she might have added was lost as he pulled her tight against his body. His lips hovered over hers, his breath mingling with hers. Even though she held her ground, patiently waiting to see what he was going to do next, he didn't seem to be willing to make the next move that would have them touching completely. Her dreams had given her a clear picture of what kissing him would be like but the sensory overload of being awake while this close to him was shutting down parts of her brain that were important to sticking to her ideas of staying away from him. Instead, she moved the few scant inches to give his initial idea her seal of approval.

At first, she was the one initiating the contact so that the pressure was to her specifications. She took a leisurely perusal of his lips with her tongue but began to back off when she realized he hadn't moved. Sensing her withdrawal, he wrapped a hand in her hair to keep her in place.

"You can't have it both ways, Patrice," he whispered against her lips. "Either you accept me or you don't. I can't do halfway. Some might but-"

She told him her answer with a renewed vigor of the kiss, her tongue pushing against his lips with a fierce determination to explore every part of him. It was familiar territory but it felt new now that her conscious mind was part of the proceedings. She wanted to touch him, to memorize the texture of his skin with her fingers as she learned the contours of his mouth but her hands were locked between their bodies and freeing them would move her in the wrong direction. Instead, she grabbed for the fabric of his shirt and held on to him in case he decided to push her away.

Patrice was the first to pull away but only because she needed to say the words out loud before the moment had passed. "Tianne helped me realize that what we felt for each other has nothing to do with how compatible we are in every other part of our life. We don't need to completely agree to make this work."

"How do we not agree? I don't think I understand exactly what drives you away from me." His fingers trailed from her hair down to her cheek, featherlight pressure against her skin. "You want this as much as I do. Not even you can deny that."

When she didn't answer, he dropped his lips to take the place of his fingers. "Tell me what it is. What have I done that's made you pull away from me?"

"It's the way you look at the garden. Like you belong there."

His eyes were dark as he lifted his head. "But I do."

A tear threatened to drip out of her eye but, in the heat of her passion, turned into steam. He lifted his hand to drift through the vapor, mesmerized by the bits of water that should have fallen down her cheek. When he looked back at her, his confusion so plain in his features, she tried to explain herself. "I love Allen Street but I don't love that place. I don't think I ever can. They use it for horrible things. I don't see how you can be so mesmerized by it. It concerns me that you... like what goes on there."

"I don't understand."

She shook her head, refusing to explain further. As she gained some distance from him, she realized they were standing out in the middle of the street, a drama for anyone to watch. Even though she was turning him down, she didn't want him to walk away from her. Instead, she pulled him toward the front door of the shop. The lock was in place but she would have expected Tianne to keep everything closed up considering what had already happened tonight. "I can't," she whispered when he smoothed a hand down her neck, calming her mind even as her body pressed closer. "I can't relive it in words. Don't make me."

When he nodded, she was afraid he'd pull away from her and walk away. She wanted to be able to explain to him what turned her cold. To be able to break down this last barrier and give herself freely to him felt like a nice dream but that was not something she could do in reality. Instead, she held her hand out to him and tugged him into the shop. The only light in the room came from her glowing skin.

Both hands came up to frame her face. She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. "Can I _see_ what you mean?" he asked, his voice so soft she mostly just felt the words as air moving across her skin.

She nodded her head without really knowing what he was talking about. There was pressure, as if he was physically pushing her skull with his hands even though she could still feel them just barely touching her. _Just breath,_ a voice whispered inside her pounding head. Even though it was hard to remember just how to breath with the pressure taking all her attention, she let out one breath and then a second one. There was a starburst behind her eyes and then his hands were gone and it was like nothing had happened. There wasn't even a residual ache of pain left over.

When Malachi stepped back, it surprised her enough that she let him go without protest. Genuine horror twisted his features until Patrice wanted to comfort him. "What is it?"

"Your memory. No wonder you look at me like I'm a monster whenever I talk about it."

Her stomach churned as she tried to figure out if he was sympathetic of her plight or afraid of her. "The one they threw in. He's the apparition that came to me earlier. He threatened my family because of what I did."

"But you didn't do anything."

The steam was thicker around her as the emotion began to overwhelm the paltry defenses she'd been able to erect around the heat of her power. Any hint of her mortal disguise was evaporating now that her emotions were in such a turmoil because of her passion and the feelings he was making her deal with. "I should have fought harder." As much as she wanted him to understand, she didn't want him thinking she was innocent. No custodian could be innocent. "I wasn't sure what was going on. It was only my second meeting on the Committee and I wasn't sure of my place. What they did to him was horrible but I'm just as guilty because I didn't stop them. I should have refused to be a part of it."

It had been impossible to see his movement even though she was looking right at him but one moment he was a few steps away from her and the next he was pressed up against her once again. His heat was welcome, as were the kisses he placed along her jaw and down the line of her neck. She tried to pull away, to convince him that what she had to say was far more important than any physical pleasure but he was having none of it.

"I think, once you see what I have to show you, you'll understand why I love the garden the way I do. The place you showed me is not the same one that I know of. Let me show you." His expression was so earnest when he looked up at her that she couldn't have denied him anything. Those eyes that she found so beguiling were now pleading with her in an entirely different way. Always before, she'd felt that he'd looked at her as someone he thought he understood, as if they'd shared enough that he had a right to expect something from her. Now, he seemed uncertain for the first time, but she was no longer uncertain. No matter what he had to show her, she no longer saw him as a monster. She'd seen enough monsters today to know what a real one looked like. The man in front of her was not one.

She pushed the hood off his head, wrapping her hands in the interesting strands of hair. Drawing him toward her mouth once again, she nodded. At first she thought he didn't understand the gesture but then his hands came up to rest on either side of her head again, his forehead came to rest against hers. This time, there wasn't any pain but the pressure was every bit as intense. She closed her eyes, trying not to panic as images suddenly sprang up more vivid than any of her own memories.

The sunlight hurt, it was so bright against the leaves of the trees and blades of grass. Flowers of every shape and color waved in the slight wind and, even in the memory, she could smell their sweet fragrance. As Patrice looked closer at a bank of blooms, she saw that they rimmed the rift. Instead of the malevolent light she had seen whenever she visited, this opening in the earth glowed with a delicate fluorescence. Most importantly, there wasn't a tall wall keeping the area separated from the rest of the street. Any way she looked, she could see the houses and shops of Allen Street. If anyone wanted to get from one area to the next, they only had to walk through the garden.

"It's so peaceful. Is this one of your memories? Were you here when it was like this?"

His hands dropped away, the pressure and the picture disappearing, as he shook his head. "This is the memory of another that I was allowed to borrow so that you would understand. This is how Allen Street was a very long time ago. I only became aware of the street a couple of months ago. The same time as you took over the custodianship, as a matter of fact."

"Because your my angel?" She brought his lips down to hers, nipping at his bottom lip in playful abandon. Sparks flew up into the night sky as she trailed her fingers through his hair but she didn't worry about any part of him catching fire. In fact, he seemed to absorb her fire. When the light from her skin touched his, it added to the shadows.

"No." He shook his head again, taking advantage of the motion to move his lips to her ear. Each word he spoke made her shiver and not just because of the timber of his voice against a particular sensitive spot. "I'm your angel because you took the position. Can you remember the first dream of me? It was the night after the transfer of power."

It had been a surprise to dream of him after years of sleeping without disturbance. Tianne had mentioned that she'd cried out a couple of times but she'd never told her sister it hadn't been a nightmare. No, those cries had come from a place of pure and unadulterated passion. "Please don't tell me you knew my dad. That would be weird. Just plain weird."

"Your father had his own angel but they never met. Their connection was strained and slight, at best. Our connection, though, is like those of old. We share something special."

"Why?"

He pulled away to stare at her, the question easing some of the passion out of his eyes. They narrowed for a moment before finding her gaze again. "I don't know. I could just feel you. One moment, there was no connection and then..." He held up his hand. In the dim light, she could make out a mirror image of her own branded pattern on his palm. She held hers so that the raised skin touched, melding together. The spark that had begun to burn inside her belly erupted into an inferno that threatened to burn her alive. Her screams of passion were echoed by his and they collapsed onto the floor of the shop, a tangle of languid flesh and explosive magic.

***

The living quarters were quiet as Patrice led Malachi up the stairs. Her magic was lighting up the rooms as they passed and she was giving most of her attention at swatting away Malachi's questing hand. They got to her room before Patrice realized something was wrong. Tianne hadn't come to check up on them. With all that had gone on tonight, Patrice knew that interrupting wouldn't have been a problem for her sister.

"I need to go find Tianne," Patrice whispered as she stepped out of his grasp yet again. "I'm surprised she hasn't come to ask us the details after I sent her home. You make yourself-"

"I'll come with you." His demeanor changed so quickly that she felt a fissure of fear streak down her spine. As she tried to protest, he straightened to his full height. With his hood down and the hair out of his eyes, he was menacing enough that she gave up trying to get him to wait for her. Besides, she wanted Tianne to see that Malachi had come back with her so she wouldn't have to answer the question her sister was sure to ask. It would be enough for her to see that her sister wasn't as truly thick as she sometimes appeared.

There wasn't a single sign of life in the entire building and, no matter how many times she checked, Patrice couldn't find any indication that Tianne had been home. No shoes thrown into the corner or sweater over the back of a chair. No used tea mug in the sink or paperback book sitting by the window seat.

"Maybe she's gone to see Fallon." As soon as it came out of her mouth, Patrice knew she was grasping for a simple solution. The simple truth was that Tianne had no friends she might have stopped by to talk to on her way home from the Music Hall. It wouldn't have been like her, even if there had been someone out there she was friendly with. "To see if he was okay." But that logic didn't work, either. Tiane had left well before any of the others and would have gone right home.

"They meant to do this. Whoever has her, they meant for this to happen tonight. The debacle at the Music Hall was all a ruse to get her out of the shop and to keep me away from her long enough for her to be taken." A tremor took hold of her muscles so that she couldn't stop shivering. How was she going to explain this to her parents? "I've killed my sister."

Malachi took her hands in one of his, swinging her around roughly to face him. The light she emitted made his hair dance with color and life but his face was, once again, in shadow. Her angel was preparing for battle. "You don't know that. Right now, you don't know anything. Save your terror for a time when it will be better served. Right now, you need to concentrate on getting your sister back where she belongs. Where might she have gone?"

"She doesn't leave this building. It's dangerous out there for her. She's-"

A concussion of noise erupted from downstairs, stopping her heart. She'd felt much more sure of herself and her surroundings before the Music Hall was set on fire and her neighbors turned on her. Now, she felt jumpy and unsure. It was Malachi who was the first to run back down the stairs. Only after a long moment battling with fear did Patrice follow him. She had to be strong for her sister and, a voice reminded her, for Malachi. He was expecting her to be the strong Yaag leader that he'd first met. It was time to play that part better than she ever had before.

"Stay back," Malachi yelled as she reached the bottom of the stairs.

"What is it?" she asked just as the first wave of cold swept through her body. It chilled every part of her, leaving her teeth chattering together. Even more painful was the way that the ice crept into her heart. This was no simple frost but something intended to harm any Yaag that came close to it. Even with her expanded power, she couldn't fight off the grip of the blight. There was no way that she could get closer because any further into the room would most likely kill her. "What is it?" she asked again through clenched teeth as she fought to push warmth to her extremities so they wouldn't be damaged.

"A frost bomb with a note attached. Don't worry. it wasn't strong. Already, it's beginning to dissipate."

A little warmth had begun to warm her top layer of skin, proving his words. "I don't care about the bomb. What does the note say."

"They have your sister in the garden." Instead of sounding distressed, he sounded hopeful. His joy nearly made her anger toward him begin growing once again until she realized that her sister was being kept in the one place that meant something to Malachi. Even though she still didn't understand his connection to the place, it was going to now work in her favor.

"Then we go to the garden."

He gathered her into his strong arms, spreading his warmth to her chilled body. "I can do this alone, Patrice. There's no need for you-"

"She's my sister." She meant to shake her head emphatically but she only succeeded in burrowing closer to his chest where she could feel the steady beat of his heart. "I have to be part of this or I'll never forgive myself. She's my responsibility."

"They intend to harm you. Everything tonight has been intended to harm you. Do you understand that?"

It had been something she had suspected but hearing him say it out loud made her heart quiver even as it strengthened her resolve. "They made a mistake when they didn't come at me directly. I might have finally caved in if they'd tried direct hits but they keep hurting people I love. All the _Yaag_ that have disappeared without one word to me... they were forced from their homes because of this problem that someone has with me. That was their first mistake. They can hurt me but I'm tired of them hurting the people around me. And taking Tiane was the last straw. She's a complete innocent in all of this."

He pulled away from her, having to physically restrain her from following his warmth, so that he could look her in the eye. "Do you trust me? Do you trust what I can do to help you?"

While she thought her trust in him was complete, she knew that it had only just begun to be tested. At every new example of what he could do, she had wavered. As horrible as it seemed now, she had spent more time disbelieving him since meeting him than she had truly crediting him with what he said was the truth. Even though it seemed like she would always trust him, she knew that she would probably question him again because it was not in her nature to confide in anyone who was so different than she was.

Still, she could only hope that she would continue to choose him when her faith was tested. "I love you and I accept you. It will have to be enough."

A frown full of sorrow briefly crossed his face before he pulled her back into his embrace. "It will have to be enough," he echoed but she could tell he had wanted her answer to be very different than the one she gave him.

***

The garden was still. Too still, as Patrice thought about it. Nothing was moving. No branches were waving back and forth, making leaves rustle as they danced in the wind. No animals skittered through the grass. It was unnerving because, she realized, her entrance was completely muted. She thought about saying something to Malachi but it would have sent her over the edge if she'd opened her mouth and nothing had come out.

Instead, she concentrated on the opening in the earth's crust. Even as much as it scared her, it was the only thing that hadn't changed, nor would it. It would always glow in the darkness with an strange light that seemed as alive as the other people gathered around the opening. Malevolence came in all shapes and sizes, most of them represented here.

There was a contingent of beasts, like the kind that had tormented her earlier, but these creatures were more interested in guarding the shivering girl in their midst. Not all had charred flesh. Several looked like they'd died of frost bite, their flesh mottled and scarred. One was just bones covered over with dry husks of skin and clumps of dirt, as if it had been newly exhumed from its grave. The one that looked relatively normal chilled her, though. When it had turned, she'd gotten a view of the creature's back that had been blown clean off, most likely by the gun shot that had gone in through the tiny, seeping hole in its nearly in tact stomach.

There, in the midst of the group of beasts that had once served as guards to the garden, stood Tianne. Her hands were bound and there was a slash of dirt along one of her cheeks but, other than that, she looked unharmed. If anything, she looked as she always did, standing there with an aloof air and her chin slightly raised. Still, she looked surprisingly fragile. Patrice didn't know if that was because she was in trouble or because her sister always seemed delicate when she was trying her hardest to seem untouchable. Even with this exterior of strength, Patrice didn't trust her sister to be able to handle this much terror. The fact that she needed to save her sister was the only thing that was keeping Patrice from turning around and running from the garden forever.

"She is stronger than you give her credit for," came Malachi's whisper, almost more in her head than actual words from his mouth. He'd said them to her many times since they discovered who had taken her.

"What is it you want?" she called out. No one seemed to be in charge of this operation. Everyone had been placed here in a specific way but the instigator couldn't possibly be one of the creatures. Their only use was obviously as guardians for she didn't see any true intellect in their dead eyes. That didn't mean they hadn't been given specific instructions, though. The fact that they weren't thinking didn't encourage her any. "Tell me so this can come to an end."

"We want you," the creatures all said in unison, some of their voices so painfully raspy that she wanted to put her hands over her ears to keep the sound from grating through her skull. "We will kill your sister and then we will kill you."

"There will be no killings today."

Patrice turned her head slightly to watch Melissa walk closer. She looked as calm and collected as she ever did, the same grim expression gracing her face. In the dim twilight of the garden, she looked every bit the avenging angel as the man beside Patrice. They both exuded a calm that only someone with the knowledge that _they_ were fiercer than any other man or beast on the planet could have in this circumstance.

The beasts began to scream in a high keening voice that made Patrice wish she could put her hands over her ears to shut out the horrible sound. "You were not invited, witch," called out the ringleader, one of the burned beasts.

"I am no witch, well you know. If I were, your end would have been far more grizzly than what you got." She continued to bait them, drawing out each creature in turn as if she recognized each of them and knew who they had been before their death, until every single one was looking at her. It was the most that Patrice had ever heard Melissa say in one setting as the woman usually kept to herself and had very little to say otherwise.

"Go stand behind that tree over there." Malachi pointed to a large oak, its trunk is wide enough to hide at least two grown people if they chose to stand behind it. "When we have them confused, you get your sister. Do not try to help us. Your only intent should be for your sister. Do you understand?"

His tone was gruff although her real cause for concern was what he was asking her. "I understand but-"

"Your sister and only your sister. You are not to concern yourself with what happens to me or to Melissa. We can take care of ourselves but I can't do this and watch out for you. You'll have to stay out of this. Your promise, Patrice, or I send you home."

She narrowed her eyes at him, anger eating away the majority of the fear. "I'm the one who let you tag along and you'd do well to remember that, Malachi. This is my problem. Not yours."

"This should never have been your problem. The garden belongs to the angels now and forevermore. The geis was broken when they dared to harm an innocent." Before she had time to think about what he was saying, he began to glow. Not the same sort of glow that she put off when her power was at its strongest and the fire needed somewhere to go but the sort of glow that _was_ power. This was no shedding of magic but an actual display of superiority that was as comforting as it was terrifying.

There was nothing for her to do but do what he'd asked. To debate him on the merits of his plan now would only take away the upper hand that he and Melissa appeared to have. Still, she hesitated as she got closer to the tree. Somewhere in the same tree line was a shadow. The beasts could harm her sister, yes, but it was doubtful that they would be an actual threat to Malachi. Not with his power. Whatever was controlling them could very well be his undoing, seeing as whatever power they wielded must be enormous. That person might want to watch the proceedings to get an idea of what sort of power they wielded.

"None of this is a coincidence," she whispered, a bad feeling swirling inside her gut as she tried to figure out if her angel was at any sort of disadvantage here. Even from here, he was imposing. In fact, she could see him very well from where she stood which meant that the person casting that shadow had just as much of a view as she did.

Malachi lifted his hand, a signal that he was going to start his part of the plan. In that instant, Patrice knew what she had to do. Even if it killed her, she was going to do something because the thought of being the reason for Malachi's destruction was too much to bear. If she was the one who destroyed the beasts, no one would be wiser about the angel. He could still be just another member of Allen Street, his secret his to share when and if he decided to tell it. Instead of hiding behind the tree, she began running straight toward the glimmering rift. When she was close enough to feel the vibrations of power once again, she stood her ground and began to pull in as much power as she could handle. When she felt completely filled up, she took a deep breath and pulled in even more. Her skin felt too tight as the energy expanded within her, tearing at her bones and sinews as it searched for a way out.

"Hey! Over here." She waited for all eyes to be on her before she raised both her hands, one pointed at the beasts and the other toward the tree line. With a single glance at Malachi, hoping he understood that she was doing this for him, she unleashed a wall of flame in each direction. One stopped just short of the trees as they were outside her range of power. It was enough that she'd caused a distraction for the spy. The other wall of fire enveloped the beasts and Tiane. She wasn't intending for the fire to burn, even though it was tearing her apart as she struggled to control it into something that was different than its true purpose. All she needed to do was to call the power in the beasts to her just as she pulled in the power of the rift, absorbing it all so that there was nothing holding together the empty husks of the former guardians of this place. It would break her to take on that much power but it was the only solution that wouldn't harm either Tianne or Malachi.

As the pain took over and nearly brought her to her knees, an icy calm stole over her. Bit by bit, the power began to fragment away from her so that it was almost manageable. A hand clamped down on her shoulder, making her cry out from the alien sensation of skin on skin contact.

"It is done, Patrice. Drop your hands before it kills you."

Try as she might, she couldn't break the relay of power. The hand pointed toward the beasts was still under her control but the one pointed toward the shadow was acting under another's wishes. "I can't," she muttered from between clenched teeth. "There's someone there."

He wrapped his arms around her, dragging more of the power away from her in an opposite action to the one he had provided earlier when he'd filled her back up. She had become a conduit for the power of the two beings, their fight concentrated in the very core of their being. One of the three of them was going to give out first and she had the feeling it was going to be her.

As if sensing her distress, he smoothed a cool hand over her forehead. "Concentrate on my voice, Patrice. Concentrate only on me. We were meant to be together, you and I. I was created at the same moment you were. Our destinies have always been entwined. Your father was never a true leader of the Yaag. It has always been you. There is more strength in you than in anyone else and you are going to use that strength right now. You are going to pour every single bit of power that you can into me. Into our connection. You are going to trust me to keep you safe."

"What if I-"

"You can. Don't question it. Just trust. I'm here, Patrice. I'm not going anywhere. Tianne is safe with Melissa. Everyone is safe. Everyone but you."

She laid her head against his chest and concentrated on his soothing voice and the points of connection she had with him. With every bit of energy she had left inside her, she pushed all the power toward him. When the core of her being protested at being drained, she ignored the disapproval and wrung it completely dry. She was nothing now but a husk herself, but there was no longer anything for the alien power to latch onto. The connection severed just as she lost consciousness for the second time that day.

***

Tianne's was the first face Patrice saw when she finally opened her eyes. Every part of her body ached but there was no pain. As she remembered bits of what had transpired that had left her in this bedraggled state, she began to panic. "Are you alright? Were you hurt?"

Her sister shook her head but her eyes told another story. Something very like anger simmered there. Not the anger she'd always harbored before that she had readily vented about but a different anger. An anger that she couldn't explain in words but was festering in her soul. Because the sight of her sister so battered hurt more than anything else in her body, she held out her arms. Tianne huddled against her, fitting her head into the crook of her sister's shoulder.

"Did I destroy them?"

Instead of answering, Tianne nodded her head.

"Everything is as it should be?"

Another nod. No laughter or derisive tone to answer any of her questions. With a new ache taking up residence in her heart, Patrice knew that her sister had lost her voice somewhere in the middle of the trial she'd been through. Whether it was by choice or because of the trauma, she didn't know but it was enough that the silence had taken over her sister's last defense against the world where she was forever an alien, a person without magic amongst elementals that were made of magic. She'd never had magic but she had always had her words. Now she had nothing.

No, that wasn't true. There was the anger in her eyes and a determined lift to Tianne's chin that spoke of a special power that only this girl could possess. Whatever had happened to her or however she'd been hurt, she had survived. She would always survive.

"She's refused to leave your side the entire time you were unconscious."

Patrice turned her head, surprised to see Melissa here in the center of the Yaag clan's holdings. She'd fully expected to see Malachi but she could tell that the three of them were the only people in the room. Something deep inside her told her that he wasn't far away so she wasn't worried. Still, she was uncomfortable to be faced with the prospect of Melissa and her relationship with Malachi while still in this weak state.

As if understanding her feelings, Tianne sat up and positioned herself between the two women. The action brought a small smile to Melissa's face. "Even still, she's protecting you. Such dedication."

The very last thing she wanted to discuss was her sister with this woman that she didn't know well and didn't trust. "Where's Malachi?"

"Your angel is sleeping. From that look on your face, I assume the two of you didn't spend a lot of time discussing the fact that he is as mortal as you. His needs are the same and after the day you've put us through, he was in need of sleep."

"I should have done what he asked but I saw the person in the shadow and-"

"I didn't mean the happenings in the garden. This is done and gone. What you did... well, it worked better than you ever imagined, I'm sure. Whoever was on the other side of that alternate spell was in for a surprise when they realized just how powerful you turned out to be. With as much energy as you were capable of taking in, I'm surprised you didn't explode and take out the whole street with a fireball."

That certainly explained why she ached as much as she still did. "Do you know who it was?"

She only shook her head, the smile turning rather glum. "I have my suspicions but we didn't find anything. Not that there was much time to search seeing as you were dying."

Dying? That thought sent a shiver through her whole body as she remembered glimpses of a world that was not her world. A world much brighter and decidedly less decayed. "Did he bring me back?"

"You brought yourself back, girl. All he did was try to remind you why you needed to come back instead of going forward. That, in itself, was a hard enough job without having to keep you pumped full of enough magic so that your body wouldn't keep shutting down. You needed a vessel to come back to, after all."

"He kept me safe... again," she whispered to herself as Tianne smoothed a hand along her arm. The contact seemed to be exactly what she needed as her soul tried to get over the urge to flee this mortal realm. "But you said he's mortal. Just like me."

"And not, at the same time. It's confusing, I know. You'll have time to figure out the whats and whys, seeing as neither of you is going anywhere for the time being. You'll find, when you're able, that the Street is much changed. Always remember that you were the one that brought about the change and, no matter how much others may not like it, it is in the best interest of all."

Melissa got up to leave but she came forward instead of heading for the door. She laid a hand on Tianne's arm. "When you're ready, child, come and find me. I'll do what I can to help."

And then it was as if she'd never been in the room at all. Tianne stared into the space she had occupied, her frown the only indication that she'd heard the words. They confused Patrice but she was willing to accept that there were things she didn't understand and never would. There were always questions where Melissa was concerned. She was like no one else on the street. Now, Patrice wondered if it wasn't that she was strange so much that she was different. Like Malachi was different. They both belonged but they definitely weren't Elementals. Something settled in Patrice's soul that told her she was right in that thought. The same acceptance told her that this wasn't her problem to solve, though. She'd done her part.

Malachi filled the doorway, his presence easing all of the aches in her weary body. Even though he looked tired and was clearly worried about her, he looked every bit as imposing as she remembered. Her angel was most definitely a warrior. Still, he didn't seem willing to try to get past Tianne.

"Did you recognize the person you were trying to save me from?" he asked after a moment.

She shook her head. "Just an overwhelming feeling of malice. I did trust you but... well, I distrusted that shadow more."

The bark of laughter didn't exactly make her feel better but she saw something thaw in his dark expression. "No, you don't trust me. But you will. Someday. I'll just have to stick around until you do."


End file.
